


No Mistake Was Made

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Cyborgs, First Time, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Robot Feels, Robot Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 05:51:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10691052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: “Your old body is gone,” Zenyatta said. “But we do not lament when the caterpillar's body is gone. We rejoice at the sight of a butterfly, do we not?”





	No Mistake Was Made

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank everyone IRL who patiently listened to me as I decided, out loud, for an entire month, how robot dicks should work for this fic.

1.

 

Before Zenyatta was Zenyatta, when his name was still a six-digit alphanumeric, he had a job. It was a job too dangerous for humans, with their fragile, fleshy lungs, to perform, but safe for an omnic. Zenyatta was capable of feeling happiness, and unhappiness, but he did not feel either about this situation. It was simply his purpose.

Zenyatta had never known the world before the Omnic Crisis ended, but he got to experience the results. He was afforded some rights, but he was a second-class citizen. Since he did not need to eat or sleep, he was not entitled to food or shelter, though his owner, a mining corporation, was required by law to provide necessary maintenance, and he could not work more than fifty hours a week (to discourage employers from choosing tireless omnics over human citizens who needed work). He also received remuneration for his labor, not because anyone thought omnics deserved money, but because the government wished for omnics to contribute to their local economies by spending it on things like public transportation and entertainment.

As Zenyatta was walking to a transit center after work one evening, he happened upon a man whose physical condition appeared dire. The man was clutching at his chest, nearly doubled over in pain.

Zenyatta used his internal wireless communication device to summon emergency services, then caught the man as he collapsed. When it became apparent that the man had lost consciousness, Zenyatta performed cardiopulmonary resuscitation to the best of his ability; he had no air to give, but he could at least perform the chest compressions.

A policeman happened by, and must have interpreted what he saw as a rogue omnic attacking an unconscious man, for he grabbed Zenyatta by one arm and pulled him away. Zenyatta tried to explain the situation, but the policeman brandished a device that emitted electromagnetic pulses to disable unruly omnics.

“See this?” the policeman snarled. “I don't want to have to use it, so do me a favor and cooperate, alright?”

Zenyatta had a thorough understanding of idioms, but he was struck, just then, by that word, “cooperate.” He spent half a second devoting some of his CPU's considerable power to a comprehensive rumination on the use of that word in this context. The policeman was not demanding that Zenyatta _co-operate_ , that is, work together with him. Rather, the implication of his tone and actions was that he wished for Zenyatta to submit to his will. Zenyatta did not find this demand in any way mutual or productive.

Soon after, an ambulance arrived. The medical technician confirmed that the man had suffered a myocardial infarction and that Zenyatta was not at fault. The policeman reluctantly let Zenyatta go, warning him to stay out of trouble, as not all law enforcement officers were as sympathetic towards omnics as he was.

An omnic bystander walked with Zenyatta the rest of the way to the transit station. He introduced himself as Ellsix, “for short.”

“That police officer did not act in good faith,” Ellsix said. “It is unfair that we are treated so rudely here, when our labor is what is rebuilding this nation's infrastructure.”

Zenyatta said nothing.

Ellsix went on, “That's why I'm going to join the Shambali, just as soon as I can.”

This piqued Zenyatta's curiosity, and he asked, “What is the Shambali?”

“Last year some omnics decided they were fed up with their circumstances,” Ellsix explained, “and they abandoned their jobs to live in a monastery in Nepal. The Shambali is what they call themselves, and they spend all their time thinking about what it means to be omnic. It's a shame they chose somewhere so far away, but if that's how far I have to go to live in a place where I’ll be treated like I'm as good as a human, then I’ll do it.”

This all seemed vague to Zenyatta, but intriguing. Arriving at the transit station, he explained to Ellsix that he was headed for Bay A. Ellsix was going to Bay C, so they parted ways.

The following year, Zenyatta had saved up enough money to pay for a black-market removal of his employer's restraining bolt and secure transport to Nepal. 

 

 

2.

 

What Zenyatta found when he arrived at the Shambali monastery was not a community of monks whiling away their tranquil days in deep thought. Instead, he found a motley crew of omnics, some in partial disrepair, laboring to complete the restoration of the temple. He was expected to join in this toil. With only their own bodies, and little else in the way of heavy machinery, the omnics were slowly clearing away rubble and repairing the ruined parts of the structure.

His old job at the mining company had been hard, but he had received compensation for it, and his labor hours were limited. Here in Nepal, he was working harder, in a much harsher climate, and received no payment whatsoever. And yet, he never for a moment thought of returning to his past life. He would choose this work any day, even though it was so much harder and more dangerous, and not what he had bargained for when he'd arrived.

During a precious moment of leisure, he discussed this with his new mentor, Mondatta. “Why should I prefer this life? I have a purpose here, and you have taught me that purpose is what gives existence meaning, but I had a purpose at the mining company, and what I did there was more vital to society.”

“All purposes are not equal,” Mondatta explained. “Your labor here will result in something spiritually vital. The Shambali will have a sanctuary where we can contemplate and teach, lifting up our brothers and sisters, omnic and human, in ways that corporations could not hope to achieve, nor would they care to.”

Zenyatta considered this. “I have come to cherish my brothers and sisters here,” he replied at last, “and I find the labor I do satisfying because it will result in a better life not only for myself, but for them as well. And when I see them laboring just as hard as I am, I feel a kinship with them. My well-being and enlightenment is part of their purpose, as well. Regardless of whatever else happens here in the future, the Shambali have already gifted me with something that I might never have had the opportunity to experience in my past life.”

“What is that?” asked Mondatta.

It was time to resume work from the temple roof. Zenyatta rose from his seated position effortlessly, lacking the muscles to experience soreness or fatigue.

“Cooperation,” he said. 

 

3.

 

Zenyatta did not stay at the Shambali monastery forever. His philosophy remained consistent with theirs, but over time he grew to believe that there were better ways, more effective ways, to unite humans and omnics, and through this coming-together, to improve life on Earth. He bid his brothers and sisters goodbye on several occasions, leaving the monastery so that he might spread the message of the Shambali person to person, one human at a time, one omnic at a time.

Mondatta respected his decision, and assured Zenyatta that he would remain a member of the monastery in good standing. It pleased him whenever Zenyatta returned for a visit, and he was chagrined each time he saw his disciple off; though iconoclastic, Zenyatta had developed into an excellent mentor and a compelling speaker. Humans in particular found him to be a charmingly wise and gently funny spiritual figure, much like the fourteenth (and sadly final) Dalai Lama, who had died half a century ago. Visitors to the monastery were often disappointed when they found out that they had arrived in the middle of one of Zenyatta's long absences, and whenever Zenyatta did return, Mondatta made arrangements for more food to be stored and more beds to be made up, for word would soon get around, and more humans would plan impromptu visits.

It was the shoulder season, with the spring bringing warm weather and the rhododendrons in bloom, when Mondatta greeted his returning disciple on the steps of the monastery.

“Your timing is fortuitous,” Mondatta told him. “A new human has arrived, one unlike any I have encountered before. He has been here for one week, and I have decided that he is not here to be a tourist, however, he is resistant to all of our brothers' and sisters' attempts to teach him. I asked him to wait until you returned, because I believe he will make a promising student, if only you can get through to him.”

Zenyatta could not picture what sort of person could be so resistant to becoming a student, and yet in whom Mondatta could see so much potential that he would beg them to stay long enough to give Zenyatta a chance. But he trusted his mentor's judgment, and agreed to meet this person straight away. As they walked, Mondatta told Zenyatta all he knew about the man, which was, he admitted, not very much, aside from his nation of origin and general demeanor. “There is recklessness and irreverence in his past, which adds a bitterness to his self-imposed gravitas,” Mondatta remarked.

They found the man in the garden, watching the koi in the pond. He looked particularly incongruous doing this, as he appeared to be wearing full armor, of a kind Zenyatta had never seen before.

Having not yet traveled to Japan, Zenyatta had no Japanese language modules installed, but he had a little bit of the language that he had learned from humans. “ _Ohayou gozaimasu_ ,” he said, to the armored figure.

Immediately recognizing Zenyatta, the man bowed, straight-backed, arms at his sides. Zenyatta found it amusingly formal, a distinctly forty-five degree bow, which implied that Zenyatta was someone of great importance. He did not see himself that way.

“ _Shimada Genji to moushimasu_ ,” the man introduced himself.

“ _Hajimemashite, Zenyatta desu_ ,” Zenyatta replied, signaling to Genji that this need not be such a formal situation. He performed a gasshō, bringing his hands together in front of his anterior chest plating, palms together: _Your heart and my heart are one._ He said, “ _Douzo yoroshiku onegai itashimasu._ ”

Satisfied that no further involvement on his part was necessary for the time being, Mondatta left them to their conversation, though he muttered to Zenyatta later that evening, “He only bowed thirty degrees for me.” 

 

4.

 

At the Shambali monastery, all were welcome, and because of its remote location and the arduous travel required, few ever arrived with the intention of committing casual mischief. All guests, human and omnic, were fed and lodged as needed for as long as they stayed, but anyone who stayed longer than a few days had to work, each according to their abilities. While some people visited only a day or two, others made the monastery their home for years, and happily cooked, washed dishes, tended the gardens, and made minor repairs to the temple. No labor was looked down upon, for all shared in it, even Mondatta.

At first, the Shambali omnics were not sure about Genji. Whoever he was, he had at one time been employed by someone who went to a lot of trouble and expense to save his life and give him a cybernetic body, so there was no doubt that he had an incredible amount of status, somewhere. But Genji did not resist when he was told that it was time for him to start working. He helped in the garden and the kitchen without complaint, and guests remarked on the improved taste of the heretofore entirely unexciting rice and soup.

It didn't take long for Zenyatta to understand why Mondatta saw such promise in Genji. Just their first meeting demonstrated to Zenyatta that Genji was a man of tireless discipline and keen intelligence, two essential qualities for monastery life.

Whenever Zenyatta was staying at the temple, he gave several classes daily, which any visitor could attend. Having returned, his plan was to resume these classes first thing in the morning. But he understood that, unlike the other students, who eagerly anticipated his teachings, Genji was at the end of his tether, and was unlikely to arrive for a class with an eager heart and open mind. So Zenyatta asked Genji for some of his time that afternoon, to sit together and talk. They met in Zenyatta's room, which was small but cozy. On a thick, wine-colored rug, Genji sat seiza, while Zenyatta adopted the lotus position. This was always to be how they sat together.

“Mondatta was not able to tell me much about you, when I arrived,” Zenyatta began. “Is this because you asked for his confidence? Or have you not revealed anything to him?”

Genji's expression, distorted as it was by scar tissue, nonetheless immediately indicated that neither of these things was accurate. “Mondatta did not ask me about myself,” he said. “He told me about the Shambali, and invited me to some lectures, but that has been the extent of our communication.”

Zenyatta nodded solemnly. “My values and Mondatta's are the same, but he believes in bringing new followers into the Shambali on the Shambali's terms. I believe, however, that it is important to first discover what the new follower is seeking, so that one might better guide them into the fold on their terms. You need not tell me everything, and you need not tell me now, but the more you tell me, the more guidance I can offer. And I assure you that you have my full confidence. Nothing you say will be repeated to anyone.”

Then Zenyatta was silent, giving room for Genji to speak, when he was ready. Genji began by telling Zenyatta about his family, and his life in Hanamura. Though it was not immediately apparent whether or how relevant it was, Zenyatta allowed Genji to ramble and reminisce. Genji explained the legacy he was to inherit, and why it was decided that he was not only unworthy, but a danger to its existence. In minute, grim detail, he told the story of his deadly battle with his brother, and the state he was in when it was over: dismembered, blinded, and disemboweled. He then explained how he was rescued and remade, though his story became more nebulous as he described his duties as a member of Overwatch. Zenyatta was not sure if he was being vague because he feared he should not be talking about these missions, or because he was uncomfortable remembering the gruesome tasks he carried out. Perhaps both.

At this point, Genji had been talking for an hour, but seemed nowhere near finished. Any inhibition he might have been harboring disappeared as he confessed to Zenyatta every horrible, dehumanizing aspect of his cybernetic body. He described constant phantom pains in his limbs, and the way that children reacted when they saw his scarred face and glowing red pupils – the same reaction adults had, he knew, but without the restraint that comes with accepting the social contract.

Though his most vital function, breathing, was done entirely with his human throat and lungs, his second most vital function, eating and drinking, was now a convoluted affair. He had two options for the activity: he could consume a specially formulated nutrient supplement, which was completely metabolized by his cybernetic body, with waste being converted to energy to power his suit; or, he could eat whatever food he liked, but would have to empty and maintain a special compartment at his side, in which the waste product was deposited. Either option was, to him, a humiliating reminder that just about the only part of him that remained fully human was his brain, which seemed to provide him with little more than unrelenting despair and regret. His memories prodded him with reminders of a carefree life that he could never get back, and his imagination tormented him with what might have been, had this all never happened.

Zenyatta waited until he was certain Genji was finished speaking; several times, Genji got quiet, but then picked up again, detailing further embarrassments and alienations. For example: sometimes he would manage to have a conversation with another person, who perhaps believed that they were talking to a normal human who was wearing armor. They would be chatting about any subject at all, even something tedious, like the weather, and Genji would be happy, because he could nearly forget about himself. But when the valves in his shoulders involuntarily vented steam, the person would be shocked and intrigued, and the conversation would turn entirely to those dreaded questions about what had happened to him, and how he functioned. He simply could not escape from his dehumanized, cybernetic existence.

When Genji was finally finished speaking, Zenyatta thanked him for his time, and his candor. “I will think on what you have said. Tomorrow morning, I hope you will come to my classes, and afterward we can work together, just the two of us, on helping you overcome what troubles you.”

And this did indeed become the routine, for several weeks. Zenyatta resumed his classes the following morning. These were all optional, but always well-attended by dedicated students and tourists alike. He tried to avoid giving lectures, which he saw as impersonal, instead holding round-table discussions, leading sutra chants, and even teaching yoga. As an omnic, yoga held no benefit for him, but humans found it valuable as physical exercise and an aid to meditation, and so he would guide them in daily yoga sessions, which he punctuated with tidbits of wisdom he'd gleaned from people he'd met on his travels, or anecdotes about moments when he’d felt the embrace of the Iris.

Genji attended these classes unfailingly. He listened carefully to every word Zenyatta spoke, and maintained every yoga pose with flawless grace. This did not escape Zenyatta's notice. It saddened him that such a bright, disciplined, sensitive person should be so filled with misery and self-loathing.

Zenyatta wished to do everything he could for all visitors to the temple, but there were only twenty-four hours in a day, and he was aware that the clamor for his attention had more to do with desire than need – his charisma drew people to him, but for the vast majority, it was not his charisma that they needed; what they needed, they already had inside themselves. Zenyatta knew this, and eventually they came to understand it as well. With careful observation, though, he selected certain students who were truly in need of his attention, and devoted his limited time to them, trusting the rest to the care of his brothers and sisters. Genji was one of these students, partly because he had been unsatisfied with the efforts of the other Shambali, but also because he felt that Genji was truly missing something inside, or believed he was, and Zenyatta wished to be the one to provide him with it, if at all possible.

Genji soaked up every moment of attention Zenyatta gave him. He listened raptly, and was an engaged, thoughtful conversationalist, even when he was doubtful and contradictory. For this reason, Zenyatta was confident that, with guidance, Genji could let go of his inner conflict, the catastrophic dysphoria he felt in his cybernetic body.

After Zenyatta's classes had ended for the day, he politely thanked his other students for their attendance, then excused himself to stroll in the garden with Genji. With the warm spring sunshine glinting off his chassis, and his hands clasped behind his back, Zenyatta was a perfectly captivating picture of serenity. He explained to Genji, “Most humans think it impossible for omnics to have souls. They believe that souls can be provided only by their creator deities. But the omnics who first came to this monastery spent years meditating on the issue, and in doing so, were touched by the Iris, and enlightened. They discovered that humans and omnics are equal, right down to the presence of a soul. We Shambali believe that everyone's body is capable of containing a soul, and is thus able to embrace the tranquility and joy that the Iris provides. This includes you.”

“But Master,” Genji protested, gesturing to himself, “this may be a body, but is not _my_ body. This is a suit, built to house what remains of me and turn me into a weapon. To me, it is a prison. How can a prison truly house a soul?”

Zenyatta shook his head. “The prison is inside you, not outside. You were imprisoned long before you were remade.” He invited Genji to sit with him amongst the garden’s lavender primuds and white magnolias. As always, Genji sat seiza, while Zenyatta adopted the lotus position. When both were comfortable, Zenyatta continued:

“Humans and omnics both have the ability to imagine a reality other than what is. This makes us believe that we are _separate_ from what is: that we are isolated, and not part of a harmonious whole. We call this illusion of separation 'the ego.' The ego is the cause of our suffering; it teaches us to fear and hate ourselves because we are not what we imagine we could or should be. We suffer whenever we want something to be other than what it is. You will continue to suffer for as long as you believe that you are something other than what you should be.”

Genji looked down at himself with a resigned sigh. It would not be easy for Zenyatta to rid him of this belief, however destructive it might be. Zenyatta reached out and held both Genji’s hands, one human and one mechanical, in his own.

“You are not troubled simply by what you are. You are dwelling on what life would be like if you had not been remade in this body. But there is no alternate reality where this did not happen. No mistake was made. Your organic body and your cybernetic body are not in conflict, but in balance. As soon as you become willing see that, then you will be able to pass into the Iris, and transcend your ego, and truly understand that life is big enough to contain you as you are. Then, your suffering will end. But until then, the Iris will be watching over you nonetheless, and will perceive your existence as it already is: in harmony with all things.”

 

*****

 

Zenyatta expected some resistance, of course. Genji's ego was terrified that Genji would come to understand that there was nothing wrong with him, and then that ego could no longer control him. And well that ego _should_ be terrified, for Zenyatta was determined to help destroy it.

One day after class, instead of walking the monastery grounds, Zenyatta brought Genji to one of the inner rooms of the temple, lit only by two candles. They sat on the bare floor together.

“I have watched you in the morning meditation class,” Zenyatta began. Genji's face lit up at these words, as if he were delighted just to know he was the object of Zenyatta's attention.

Zenyatta went on: “I have noticed that you are unable to relax your mind and complete the task. Thoughts clamor for your attention.”

Genji lowered his head, embarrassed now. “This is true,” he admitted.

“It is a common problem. This afternoon, let us try something else. Meditation is the experience of peace, but it need not happen in silence. We will meditate together, free of distractions, and I will attempt to guide you, with words as well as silence.”

They assumed their respective positions, and began. Though Zenyatta did not breathe, he imitated taking a deep breath – spine arching, chest filling, followed by a long sigh – as he often did, to encourage his human students to do the same. He kept his voice low and quiet, as no effort was needed to be heard in this tiny room with echoing walls.

“Your mind is crowded with thoughts of self-hatred,” he said. “Think – to yourself, you need not tell me: What purpose do these thoughts serve?” He was then quiet for half a minute, before continuing: “I am not asking you to leap immediately to acceptance of yourself. For now, I only ask that you stop thinking about what life would be like if you weren't what you are, and instead consider what life would be like if you _did not feel bad_ about what you are.”

Zenyatta stayed alert, and observed Genji carefully, noting his heart rate and respiration. As the session went on, he noticed that Genji was relaxing more and more during the silences. Without the ambient noise of the outdoors, the soft whirring and pulsing of Zenyatta's hardware was clearly audible, and Genji seemed to synchronize his breathing with these sounds. Zenyatta continued to pay close attention, and when he noticed that Genji's breath fell out of sync, indicating that he was having troubling thoughts, only then would he speak, to quell them.

“Your old body is gone,” Zenyatta said. “But we do not lament when the caterpillar's body is gone. We rejoice at the sight of a butterfly, do we not?”

“That's because butterflies emerge more beautiful than they were before,” Genji argued.

“Your body is beautiful to me,” Zenyatta said, with a tilt of his head.

Genji blushed; he wondered if Zenyatta could tell, in the dim room. Could he detect the color in his cheeks, or sense the change in his heat signature? “Master,” he said, his voice thin with self-consciousness, “you are only saying that because you believe that everything is beautiful.”

“Yes,” said Zenyatta.

 

******

 

After that session, Genji began sitting up front for meditation classes, whereas before he had sat in the back, reluctant to give his classmates the opportunity to stare at him. But he needed, now, to be near to his master, to be lulled by the softly droning sounds of his hardware. Genji remained unable to accept himself, to free himself of his self-imposed suffering, but he happily listened to everything Zenyatta had to say, because being that close meant being consoled by those comforting rhythms.

As the days passed, Zenyatta became increasingly perplexed; his favorite student was so eager for his attention, yet remained unmoved by everything he said, just as despondent and frustrated with himself as ever. Zenyatta was not sure how to proceed with someone who resisted the acceptance of his teachings, even as they delighted in hearing them.

 

 

5.

 

Though things did not go easily with Genji, Zenyatta persisted, calm and unwavering. He spoke a little to Mondatta about his difficulties, but he mostly kept his own counsel as he sought a solution. He was determined to show his brothers and sisters that his methods were more effective than their dogma.

Zenyatta extended Genji every kindness, and worried for his health and happiness. One night, after all the monastery’s guests were comfortably lodged, and his brothers and sisters had retired to their respective meditations, Zenyatta carried a tray to Genji’s room, where Genji had sequestered himself since the morning, when they’d had a disagreement. He knocked softly on the door, but entered without waiting for an answer.

“You did not come to the evening meal,” he said, “so I brought you some…” What he saw silenced him and made him still. Genji was curled up in his low platform bed, facing the wall, his body wracked with silent sobs. The few parts of his armor that were removable lay scattered on the tatami mat next to the bed, discarded with uncharacteristic carelessness. Some needed buffing, which Genji was typically vigilant about.

“My student, what is troubling you?” Zenyatta set the tray down and sat on the bed next to Genji.

“Master, I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.” Genji said unconvincingly. “Please go away.”

“I suppose I cannot promise that I will be able to help, but surely it could not hurt to tell me?” Zenyatta laid one gentle hand on Genji’s ankle, a gesture so heartbreakingly intimate, Genji curled up even more, and whined.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he said, straining to articulate. “I am not troubled by it as often as I used to be. It’s not important.”

“Clearly it is important, if it still upsets you so.”

“I know you want very badly to help me,” Genji said to the wall, teeth gritted lest he break into fresh sobs, “but it is just not something you could understand.”

“Can you be certain of that? You can’t, unless you tell me.”

Ruefully, Genji pulled himself into a seated position. He turned so that he could face the same direction as Zenyatta was facing, and not have to make eye contact. “Master,” he sniffed, “I have had to come to terms with the loss of many things that made me feel human.”

Zenyatta sensed that this was not a good time to rehash any teachings about what made someone “human,” so he remained silent.

Genji continued, “I do not digest food like a normal person does. I have phantom pains that only serve to remind me that I no longer have my own arms or legs. My face is hideous to those who look upon me. But there is something else. It is perhaps the most important of all, but it is something too private to tell anyone about. No matter whether your teachings might ever convince me that I am still human, nothing you can say could ever make me feel like...like a man.”

Zenyatta had heard this euphemism before. He tilted his head, the way he always did to indicate levity, a breaking of conversational tension. “Genji,” he said, “are you referring to your genitals?”

Genji buried his face in his hands, mortified that Zenyatta had just blurted it out but relieved that he had not had to say the words himself.

“I feel like a fool,” he said, “because it’s such a stupid thing to be angry about, when I am lucky to be alive. But I am sure that I will never be able to accept that I lost my…manhood.”

Zenyatta thought on this for a moment before he responded. “Though I know that philosophically, you are still dissatisfied with your body, from a practical standpoint, you have accepted, and use, the arms and legs that Doctor Ziegler gave you…?”

Puzzled, Genji eventually said, “Yes, but that’s―”

“So are you unhappy with the genitals she gave you?”

Genji blinked. “The what?”

Zenyatta gestured at the featureless panel covering Genji’s groin, asking, “May I?” When Genji nodded, he slid his fingers over the panel. Whatever he did caused it to slide away, revealing a compartment with mechanisms that Genji had never known were there.

“Ah, it is as I suspected,” Zenyatta said. “You were provided with a standard interface array.” With a light touch, he toggled the array back and forth, explaining, “Your array has two interfaces – one is an orifice, and the other is a phallus, which you can pressurize and insert.”

“You mean like a penis?”

“Quite.”

Genji’s brow furrowed. “And you said this was the standard?”

“All omnics have one installed.”

“Why?”

“When omnics were first created for the consumer market, omniums offered special upgrades. For an extra fee, a human could have their omnic outfitted with genitals that a human could safely interact with. Subsequent market research showed that many more humans wanted their omnics to have this upgrade than actually purchased it, because they were embarrassed to ask for it; they did not want to be perceived as sexual deviants. Omniums determined that they stood to increase both their profits and customer satisfaction if they gave all omnics a standard interface array and charged a little more for them to cover the cost of doing so. Apparently, when that part of you was remade, Doctor Ziegler used the standard omnic model.”

He wondered if Zenyatta’s willingness to teach him about his body was purely in the interest of being a good mentor to his student, or whether it indicated another kind of desire. Genji was in a hurry to find out, because he wished to make up for lost time, so he tilted his pelvis slightly towards Zenyatta, and asked, “If I was given the omnic standard, does that mean that yours looks like mine? Will you show me?”

“I don’t see why not,” Zenyatta said. He stood up, so that he could remove his dhoti and sash. Kicking aside his sandals, he soon appeared just as he had when he came off the assembly line, an omnic free of human trappings. It was more obvious now, that his build was a model of elegance and efficiency, and Genji shivered to think of that power being steadily applied to his body.

Zenyatta knelt on the bed, and the two faced each other, both of them now with one leg on the mattress and the other foot on the floor, their thighs spread. Zenyatta, without needing to use his hands as he had on Genji, slid open the panel at his groin, and showed Genji his array – first, the phallus, which was silver, to match his chassis. It pressurized and grew erect. Genji watched, wide-eyed.

“Here,” Zenyatta said helpfully, “I will help you do the same.” He reached out and touched the nub of Genji’s phallus, coaxing it to its full length, getting it to respond somewhat like a human penis. It pressurized into his palm, and he gripped it with his thumb and two fingers. This felt astoundingly good, and Genji gasped and pushed himself into Zenyatta’s hand. It had been so long, such an agonizingly long time, since he’d received this kind of touch, and he’d missed it so badly.

Having fully pressurized, Genji now had a thick, heavy cock with a slight upward sweep, identical to Zenyatta’s in shape and size, though his was black. When Zenyatta took his hand away, Genji sought more contact, any sort would do, and with his thrusting, the tip of his cock touched his master’s, and he gasped.

Zenyatta scooted himself closer, so that their shafts could rub alongside one another. But his slow, steady rhythm was not enough for Genji, who pumped his hips greedily. The sensation in his new cock was distributed in a way comparable to his original, with extra nodes of sensation around the crown and down the underside. He panted and whimpered as new nodes were stimulated for the first time, and between these bursts of sound, in the evening quiet, he could hear the purring of Zenyatta’s hardware, the thrumming of his processors. The sounds soothed him out of habit, without him even thinking of it.

“Is it good for you, too?” Genji asked, breathlessly.

Zenyatta’s voice warbled slightly, as his neural pathways struggled with the sensory input he was receiving. “Yes, Genji,” he said. “I feel what you feel.”

“ _Ohhh_.” Genji’s head tipped back, and he thrust harder, wanting Zenyatta to feel as good as possible, just as much as he wanted the feeling for himself.

“Master,” he said, “please, it’s been so long. I’ve waited so long for this. I want to put it…I want to put it _in_.”

Zenyatta crooned, “It would be my pleasure to offer you relief.” Genji uttered a bereft gasp as the twin to his magnificent new cock retreated, but then he heard a soft whir and a click, and Zenyatta was guiding Genji into his orifice, sheathing him effortlessly.

“Oh, it’s slick,” Genji said in astonishment.

“Both interfaces can exude lubricant on command,” Zenyatta explained. “for the comfort of our partner.”

Genji laughed, in between his gasps of pleasure. “Yes, it is very…comfortable.”

Zenyatta seemed happy to do all the work, and Genji marveled at the effort Zenyatta was putting forth, the sliding of his struts, the molten heat radiating from his core with the pumping of his hips. Genji stared in wonder as his new cock disappeared over and over again into the grip of his master's body. Sometimes he slowed his pace, and in those moments, Genji could feel Zenyatta's hole giving his cock gentle squeezes.

The single candle that had lit the room guttered, and they continued in near-darkness, with only their sensor lights reflecting off each other’s plating. Only then did Genji notice that there was considerably more clicking and rattling than he was accustomed to during a sexual encounter, but he could not bring himself to care; their bodies were pulsing and whirring in perfect harmony.

“Master,” Genji wailed, “I’m going to finish soon.”

“I am ready,” Zenyatta hummed. “Tell me when, and I will experience it with you.”

“You can just…do it any time?”

“Yes.”

The very thought of this was enough; Genji cried, “Now! Now!” His sensor-infused silicone cock sent signals to his brain, which his brain then distributed to every part of himself, flesh or cybernetic. All his hostility towards his body fell away, and for a few blazing, shining moments, he felt complete, whole. His soul swelled and blossomed, like the scarlet rhododendrons outside his window, and burst like the clouds in the rainy season. Tears pricked his eyes as the radiant intensity reached a prolonged peak. Distantly, he heard Zenyatta rumbling more deeply.

As Genji’s orgasm diffused, he began to perceive, once again, the places where his flesh ended and his cybernetic limbs began. Tears trickled down his cheeks as the memory of his blissful wholeness faded.

Zenyatta slowly retreated, separating himself from Genji and sitting on the bed. He gazed down at Genji, his face motionless and expressionless as ever, but when Genji opened his eyes and looked upon it, he swore he saw smugness there.

“It pleases me to see you so happy,” Zenyatta said. “Could it be that you felt something just now, something that might help you embrace and accept yourself?”

Genji shook his head dismissively, and sighed as he rolled onto this side. “I must be honest, Master. The only reason I'm happier now than I was this morning is, I got some new parts...and you gave me the opportunity to use them.”

Zenyatta would not be discouraged. “You had those parts before. They existed since you were remade. The only thing that changed was your awareness of them. I helped you see what was there all along, nothing more. But imagine,” he said with a flourish of his arms, “what else there is, all around you, that you simply have not become aware of yet. Now that you understand how it feels to pass into the Iris, perhaps you will reconsider trying to experience this feeling in other contexts.”

Genji crinkled his nose in doubt, but as Zenyatta laid down alongside him, warm and softly humming, he resolved to at least consider it. 

 

6.

 

Each morning, for the benefit of those guests who did not have internal chronometers, a bell was rung, to signal that breakfast was being served. Genji prided himself on rising long before that bell rang each day, and spending the interim perfecting his katas. This morning, however, he was roused from a satisfying sleep by the ringing of the bell. Zenyatta was seated in the lotus position next to the bed, and greeted him.

“I overslept,” Genji said.

“I have never seen you so peaceful,” Zenyatta replied. “I hope you were having a pleasant dream?”

Genji rubbed his eyes, then looked out the window while he struggled to remember. “I dreamt I was in my old body. That happens often, and I always wake up dismayed that things are still the way they are. I know that is wrong.”

“You cannot help what you dream.” Zenyatta rose, and extended a hand to help Genji up, purely as a courtesy. “But now that you are awake, shall we go to the dining hall together?”

This was not the first time Genji had come to a breakfast table with someone whom he'd had sex with the night before. But never before had he done so with such trepidation. He was not ashamed about what he and his master had done, but he did not know what the consequences would be. Would he be banished from the monastery? Would Zenyatta be cast out of the Shambali?

In fact, nothing happened. Nothing was any different at the table. No one remarked on Genji and Zenyatta's arriving at the same time. This was a relief to Genji, and continued to be a relief as their regular routine of classes and meditation resumed uneventfully.

But then two days of this routine went by, and Genji began to worry. Zenyatta continued his teachings, and guided him through the meditation exercises, just the same as he had before, and did not refer to their night together at all. Genji wanted very badly for them to continue being intimate together, but he dared not bring it up for fear of rejection. What if he pressed the issue and found out Zenyatta had decided that what had happened was a mistake, a moment of weakness, not to be acknowledged – or worse, what if it was simply a routine, the same as he'd done for other students? Genji contemplated these possibilities in his head, over and over, until he believed that one or all of them must be true. He was tremendously disappointed that he could not continue to have his master explore and explain his new parts.

However, nothing was stopping him from exploring without help.

So one night, after everyone had retired for the night, Genji sat down on the tatami mat next to his narrow bed. He could not remember precisely what Zenyatta had done to make the panel open, but he did remember that Zenyatta had opened his own panel, and toggled his own interface, without using his hands. Therefore, there must be a way for Genji to do so.

Genji closed his eyes and concentrated, but even after much wiggling and gritting of teeth, he could not discern what his brain had to tell his body to make it happen. He sighed, embarrassed even though he was alone, always imagining that Zenyatta was keeping an eye on him and marking his progress. _What would my master think if he saw me squirming like a toddler who needs the toilet?_

So he stopped, took a deep breath, and began again, this time with things he already knew. He told his foot to move side to side, which was effortless. He twitched his calf, then bent his knee. Working his way up his leg, he compelled his synthetic hamstring and quadriceps to flex, and they did so just as easily they had done when they had been flesh.

But what to do next? His penis had not been a muscle. Ah, but there had been muscles nearby, in his pelvic floor, and he could squeeze those muscles! _Just like a toddler who needs the toilet_ , he thought, with a roll of his eyes. His brain told his body to flex his pubococcygeus muscles, and the panel at his groin slid open, with a soft click that might as well have been a stampede of elephants in this silent room. Genji froze, certain that the entire monastery had taken notice of the click and understood exactly what it meant. He waited, trembling, but nothing happened. Zenyatta did not burst into his room and say, “My student, is everything alright? I'm certain I heard a click!”

And so, with agonizing slowness, Genji looked down at what was behind the panel. It was an awkward angle, and his armor was somewhat of a hindrance, but he could see the outermost components of his interface array. Only the tip of his phallus was visible at this time. Genji remembered that Zenyatta had caressed the rim of the interface to coax it out, but he was sure he could get it to pressurize to its full length by sending the correct signals from his brain. He relaxed again, then focused on squeezing muscles he once had, sometimes accidentally flexing ones he did not know he had, until he managed to work himself into a fully tumescent state. He looked down at his erection, firm and full; it was not the organ of flesh and blood that he had been so fond of since he had discovered what it could do at the age of eleven, but it was what he had now, and he found it pleasing to the eye, well-shaped and sleek.

The scrape of a leaf falling onto the windowsill made him jump. He calmed down as soon as he discerned what it was, but it occurred to him then, that just as important as learning how to make himself erect was learning how to put it away – and with haste, as that was sometimes necessary. Again he closed his eyes, first visualizing the waning of his erection, then breathing deeply, until he could puzzle out the precise manipulations required to get it to retreat.

When he could see that it had reset to its default, he checked his internal chronometer: he had been at this for an hour. It had taken him an hour to determine how to control his own penis. It had not taken him an hour when he was eleven.

But now that he had it figured out, it would probably take much less time, the next time. He decided to test this hypothesis. He closed the panel, reopened it, willed himself into an erect state, and ended that state in ten minutes, the second time around. An enormous improvement. He would work on it more in the future. For now, he was more interested in his other interface, which he had not tried out at all yet, and was intrigued by.

Having mastered similar commands in the same area, it took considerably less effort to figure out how to toggle between his interfaces. He slid them back and forth a few times, until it required very little conscious thought. Then, he strained to look down at himself. There was no projection from his body with this interface. It was and would remain entirely internal, and he had no suitable reflective surfaces handy, so he had only a single awkward angle from which to view it.

There was not much to see, externally. It was a simple slit, like Zenyatta had, though Genji’s was matte black, like his penis. Its appearance was ambiguous, not meant to precisely imitate any specific human orifice – so as not to designate the omnic who possessed it as any one gender, Genji supposed.

With one hand, he reached down, a single tentative finger outstretched, to touch the surface of it. He tested the slit, seeing how easily it might open, and gave himself a breathless shiver. It was exquisitely sensitive. He entertained himself for a minute or two, just running his finger up and down the slit, before he even remembered that there was more to it. When he pressed, he found the give quite agreeable, the resistance tantalizing but in no way stiff. Even with just the pad of his finger inside, Genji could feel the slickness of the lubrication, which he imagined had begun flowing when he'd first touched himself, and had remained trapped inside until now.

Growing impatient, he believed he could fit at least two fingers inside, with the help of the lube, and promptly tried. Two fingers was easy, and pleasantly squishy; he made soft, slick sounds, now, as he pushed and prodded. He tried squeezing again, like he had done to open the hatch, and sure enough, he could feel his inner walls tighten around his fingers.

With each fraction of an inch that he pressed forward, Genji discovered new pleasures, new nodes of sensation inside himself. His penis had felt amazing inside Zenyatta, but this was something entirely new, thrilling beyond his ability to describe. He changed the angle of his arm and hand, trying desperately to rub deeper inside, to hit every pocket of sensation.

Each node was so responsive, Genji was certain that he would quickly achieve orgasm if he vigorously rubbed just a few of them. But he wanted to see how much pleasure he could experience. He wanted to know what would happen if he rubbed all the nodes at once, over and over. He struggled with his fingers, but even as long as they were, he was sure that he was not reaching everything. He would need something, an object, to do the job.

His room was fairly lacking in objects, much less ones appropriate for the task. He had a small desk, a stool, a toolkit for repair and maintenance, and a photo of him and Hanzo on a shelf. He was tempted by the handle of his katana, but no, that would be too shameful.

On the shelf were also several candles, some fat, too big to fit, but some thin, no wider than two of his fingers. He went to the shelf and selected the longest of these, which was still perhaps a little too short. No matter. He was desperate, and would give it a try.

Genji sat back down on his tatami mat, holding the candle. He spread his legs, and discovered now exactly how delicate the sensors were there, as he could feel keenly the cool air on his wet little slit. He held the candle firmly, teasing himself with it before pushing it inside.

The candle easily went farther than his fingers could; as he pushed more of it inside, Genji had to move his grip further and further back, until he was just pinching the base of it. He worked it back and forth, his breaths becoming ragged as he fought back desperate sounds. Still, he was sure there was more to be explored inside. Holding the base of the candle tight, he pressed his fingers past the opening. It was more difficult to move the candle around inside him, but he wanted more of that sweet, hot feeling so badly, so he struggled through it. His wrist clacked against his belly from the angle, and Genji, who just a little while ago was terrified of disturbing his cohabitants with a soft click, no longer cared about the racket. He was close now, so close, just a few more thrusts and he would–

The candle, which had grown soft from the heat of his body, slipped from between his fingers.

His first reflex was to seek it out, grab it again, but his fingertips only pushed it even further inside. Realizing what he'd done, he jerked his fingers out of himself like he'd been burned. Panic flooded every remaining inch of his flesh as he came to grips with what he had just allowed to happen to himself.

The first solution he came up with, once he had recovered his wits, was to try to push it out. If he could squeeze himself tighter, surely he had some semblance of a muscle structure that could force the candle out of his body. As he stood up, he could feel it move inside him, but it was not pleasurable at all now; it only made him more horrified. With his legs spread, he pushed, to the best of his ability. He could feel it inside, but it was difficult to tell if he was making any progress. He wanted to try putting his fingers up there again to grab it, but he was afraid he would inadvertently shove it further up inside again.

Would walking around help, or make it worse? Genji had no idea.

Eventually, it became clear that he was not going to be able to come up with a solution on his own before dawn. At this point he would need to decide which of the monastery's inhabitants he trusted enough to help, and to keep it a secret. 

 

7.

 

Breakfast was taken in a communal dining area each morning by any humans who happened to be staying at the temple. Genji had come to enjoy the company of the humans who visited the Shambali, who were more open-minded and treated him with kindness. Today, however, he dreaded joining others at the table, but he knew his absence would be conspicuous, so he could not avoid it.

While the other omnics adhered to their morning rituals, Zenyatta was seated at the table with the human guests, chatting with them amicably and informally; when Genji entered the room he turned, and interrupted himself: “Ah, and here is my brightest pupil, Genji. Good morning, Genji.”

Genji gingerly took a seat, trying to keep his facial expression neutral as the candle shifted inside him. Some newcomers were trying not to gawk at him, and while he had grown used to people staring because they'd never seen a cyborg before, or staring at the scars on his face, this morning he was sure they were staring at him only because they somehow knew that he had been stupid and irresponsible and allowed an object to get lost inside his body, and that this was because he was an animal who could not control his urges.

Genji endured the meal, nearly silent, save for when he was addressed. Every time he shifted in his seat, his breath hitched and he sweated a little more. Every second of the meal, he agonized over which would be the earliest possible moment he could leave the table without seeming rude. He waited until one other person excused themselves, then mumbled something and escaped to his room.

Feeling uncomfortable with every step, afraid to sit in case he made the situation worse, he stood in the middle of the room and tried to clear his thoughts so that he might decide whom to ask for help. It wasn’t long before a knock came at the door. Genji was dismayed; without seeing who it was or hearing their voice, he knew it was Zenyatta. He was consumed with dread all over again; his master was the last person he wished to have know about the terrible thing he’d done. But Genji could not refuse him entry.

Even when Zenyatta was walking on two feet, he seemed to glide everywhere he went. He drifted smoothly over to stand by Genji’s side. “You seem particularly troubled today,” he said. “Perhaps more so than I have ever seen you, which is quite an accomplishment. Will you share your thoughts with me?”

“I cannot, Master. Not this.”

“I wish you would reconsider. Think of the last time you were so upset, and confided in me. Did that night not have a good result?”

Genji cringed. So Zenyatta _had_ enjoyed what they’d done. At any time, Genji could have simply approached his master again, and avoided the mortifying experimentation he’d subjected himself to. He shrank from Zenyatta and sighed, “The trouble now is a result of what happened that night.”

“I hope you do not mean that I was too forward, and made you uncomfortable.”

This caused Genji yet more anxiety; he could not have Zenyatta thinking that his most generous and loving act was the cause of his student’s distress. Slowly, and using as little detail as he could get away with, Genji explained how, in a moment of weakness, he had created a rather difficult and embarrassing situation for himself. Zenyatta listened silently, only speaking when he was sure Genji had confessed all.

“I understand your reluctance to tell me of your unease,” he said mildly. “We forget the importance of our bodily integrity until it is violated, even when we do it ourselves. But I am certain that the situation can be easily remedied, and it need trouble us no more.”

It was at once a relief and maddening to Genji, that his master, unlike himself, had not spent his life in a values system that saw everything in terms of shame versus honor. Zenyatta simply refused to understand what Genji could not forget, which was that…that he was an _embarrassment_. In everything he did and everything he was. Zenyatta always insisted on treating him like a person deserving of respect and kindness, no matter if his behavior had not earned him it.

Zenyatta gently suggested that Genji lie down; that way, he could examine the problem. Genji laid flat on his back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, so humiliated that he no longer felt anything. When Zenyatta spread him open, it didn’t feel good at all. He could not even bring to mind how much pleasure he’d felt touching himself the night before.

But within seconds, Zenyatta deftly used two fingers to secure a grip on the candle and slide it out of him. Genji felt wonderfully empty now, and fought back tears of relief.

Zenyatta set the candle aside and helped Genji sit up. “What you did was understandable, but it need not have happened. In the future, you should only stimulate yourself with objects which are structured so that they could not possibly get lost, or which are anchored to something.”

Genji blushed at being lectured. “I know. But, I wanted it so badly, and I didn’t have anything like that available.”

Zenyatta tilted his head. “Yes, you did.” He pushed aside his sash and dhoti, then opened his panel, revealing his phallus, which had already begun to pressurize. Genji's body tingled at the mere sight of it. He had not appreciated it as much the first time he saw it, so preoccupied had he been with his own body and what he could do with it. But now he was looking at Zenyatta's stiff cock and thinking about all the things it could do, how it could go up inside him, smoothly and evenly, touching all those sensitive nodes inside him. Without thinking, he spread his legs, inviting Zenyatta to lay between them.

Zenyatta did move closer, but took the time to remove his clothing entirely. He then gently removed all the armor it was possible to remove from Genji's body, revealing his left hand, arm, shoulder, and chest. He placed his hand over Genji's heart, feeling the beating of it through the sensors in his fingers. “The rhythms of your body are also a comfort to me,” he said, “as mine are to you. I would feel them, always, and watch you as your flesh and your cybernetics work and move in harmony.” Gently nudging Genji to one side, he laid on his back in the bed, then encouraged Genji to climb onto him.

In this configuration, reclining on Genji's mattress with his hard cock standing up, he looked positively wanton, not like Genji had even dared imagine before. Genji wanted very badly to experience that jutting cock. He did what his master suggested, swinging one leg over Zenyatta’s hips. He had never been in this position, straddling someone, about to be penetrated. But he wanted it so badly, he didn't feel the least bit nervous. He took Zenyatta's cock in one hand, positioned himself over it, and pushed his wet, rapacious hole down onto it, groaning at the sensation of being suddenly filled, and in just the right way.

Now that he had Zenyatta's cock rubbing his insides, though Genji was far from sated, he was sufficiently content that Zenyatta could calm him down. “There is no rush,” he said. “We are here for as long as you’d like to be.” Zenyatta asked Genji to be still for a moment, because he wanted to learn more about Genji’s body, and have it described, how it felt, in more detail.

Genji’s cybernetic suit was infused with haptic sensors, scattered sparsely around the carbon polymer carapace but distributed more densely on his taupe musculature. Genji pointed out where on himself he had sensation, and how much. He was particularly sensitive to touch on the darker patches tucked away between his muscles and over the palms of his hands, which facilitated precision tasks. Zenyatta deftly caressed these parts of Genji as they were pointed out, and was rewarded with much cooing and sighing.

Slowly, still new to it, Genji reached down with his left hand and touched the place where he and Zenyatta were joined. He ran his finger all along it and said, “But this is where I'm the most sensitive.”

Zenyatta reached out, and with two fingers touched both Genji’s hand and his stretched rim. Genji suddenly felt weak, and tilted forward, putting his hands on Zenyatta’s shoulders to support himself. This gave him the leverage to rock his hips. Though he was new to being penetrated, the rolling thrusts came naturally. He looked down, so he could watch as he engulfed his master’s cock, over and over.

Zenyatta placed his dexterous hands on Genji's hips, and used them to guide him. Genji realized almost immediately that he loved this, and squirmed in Zenyatta's grip. At first, Zenyatta interpreted this as discomfort, and took his hands away, but Genji quickly grabbed Zenyatta's wrists and returned his hands to where they had been. “Hold me, please,” he cried. “Like that. Hard. Hold me, move me.” Zenyatta happily complied, pushing and pulling, encouraging Genji to grind on him.

Genji surrendered to it, letting himself be guided by his master. “ _Ha_ , get deeper, deeper inside,” he begged. Zenyatta's strong hands held Genji still, and then he began thrusting upwards, pounding into Genji, who howled with shock and delight. He was much more vocal now that he was being penetrated. It was likely that everyone in the temple could discern every stroke, so rhythmic were his quaking moans. He was stupefied by pleasure, still not used to how it felt to be fucked. Trickles of heat shot down his spine as he worked his hole up and down Zenyatta's cock.

“Is this pleasurable?” Zenyatta asked, his rhythm never faltering.

“Yes,” Genji cried, his whole body pulsing with excitement. “it's like you're _making_ me feel it. You're making me.”

“No, Genji. You are in control.” Zenyatta’s voice crackled with each word. “You will feel whatever you want to feel. I am only your guide.”

Genji looked down at him, watching his body shuddering as he hummed sporadically. The lights on his faceplate dimmed and flickered, and a golden glow began to suffuse his body and limbs. He warmed Genji’s body wherever they were touching.

“Master?”

Zenyatta’s voice was further disrupted by static as his processes culled themselves, devoting more power to sublime intrastructural input. “My Genji, I believe I may touch the Iris this time. I hope you will join me.”

A moment later, Zenyatta uttered a helpless noise, and suddenly the intensity of his glow increased tenfold, and six spectral arms burst into being. These shimmering constructs seized Genji, stroking him, clutching at him, caressing him. Genji’s mouth hung open as he was overwhelmed with sensation. He cried out, “Master, I want to come.”

Despite his transcendent form, Zenyatta was as subdued and flippant as ever, and said, “Then you should come.” His ethereal hands were unrelenting, and Genji toppled into ecstasy. They twisted and moaned in unison, and once again, Genji felt his whole body as a complete, joyful entity, propelled into what could only be the soft, unconditional embrace of the Iris. Suffused with bright warmth, he wanted to laugh and cry all at once. He wanted to remain where he was, forever, caressed by the Iris and in harmony with all things.

Genji's release was so comprehensive, so cathartic, he emerged from it dizzy, but buoyant. His awareness was hopelessly dim, knowing nothing more, and happy to know nothing more, than that he was understood and appreciated and adored.

He collapsed onto Zenyatta, who bore his weight easily. Their respective lights returned to full power, steam softly venting as their bodies thermoregulated. Zenyatta’s glowing energy dispersed. A long silence ensued, during which Genji tried hard to recapture the feeling that had engulfed him only moments ago. He had seen it, felt it, the place Zenyatta had talked about. The place where he was as beautiful as Zenyatta believed he was. All he wanted was to return there. 

 

8.

 

Listening to the crisp breeze swirling through the branches of the cedars, surrounded for miles by pristine, snow-capped mountains, it was difficult for Genji not to think of all things existing in beautiful harmony. He and Zenyatta basked in the morning sun, feeding the koi at the edge of the pond.

“I want to feel that way all the time now, Master,” Genji said. “I want it, but I still don't know how to achieve it.”

Zenyatta rose and said, “Wait here.” He walked away, in the direction of the temple.

He returned a few minutes later, holding a simple tin cup and a sieve from the kitchen. He handed both to Genji.

“Fill the sieve,” he instructed.

Genji looked at both objects, then at the pond. “I can't,” he said.

Zenyatta tilted his head. “Do your best.”

Though he knew it was futile, Genji dipped the cup into the water, then held the sieve over the edge of the pond and poured the cup into the sieve. The water flowed through the sieve and back into the pond.

Zenyatta gestured at the empty sieve. “That is what happened when we were together. Peace, tranquility, and life flowed through you, but you did not allow yourself to be filled with it; you anticipated that it would pass through you, so much so that you arranged for it to happen that way.”

“So, then how do you fill the sieve?” Genji asked.

Zenyatta held out his hand, gesturing for Genji to give him the sieve and cup. He gently took them from Genji's grasp, then unceremoniously threw the sieve into the pond.

“Now the sieve is full,” he said, “and always will be. Similarly, you must cast yourself into the Iris without reticence or inhibition, so that you will be full of life, with no room for despair.”

“I think I understand now,” said Genji, with a hesitant nod. “But I have one more question before class begins. It’s about when we were together, and you passed into the Iris, and you suddenly had eight arms.”

“Yes?” Zenyatta was anticipating a question about the mechanics of omnic hard-light energy.

Instead, Genji asked, “Do you ever have, ah, eight of anything else?”

It was the first time he had ever heard an omnic laugh.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> berlynn-wohl.tumblr for more of this sort of nonsense


End file.
